


Not the Shape

by KNSkns



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KNSkns/pseuds/KNSkns
Summary: Sometimes you are saved, but sometimes you're not. AU story set mid-S2, told in a non-linear fashion.
Relationships: Michael Burnham & Mirror Philippa Georgiou, Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up through mid-S2. Set immediately after Ariam's funeral, but before all the Red Angel jazz came out. This is an AU that's told in a non-linear fashion. Finally, this story is for the wise ones – the people I know and those I don't – who understand that bad things happen to good people, and (to borrow a line from _Everything But the Girl,_ ) “when there's no point in staying, you just go.”

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

. . . To find the outcome  
The sacred geometry of chance  
The hidden law of a probable outcome  
The numbers lead a dance. . .  
~Sting

i.

/////

 _Discovery_ jumps.

/////

From across Sickbay, Nhan makes a restless sound in her sleep, struggles against nothing briefly until Seru lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Pike clocks the instant change in Burnham's demeanor. He knows that look on her face, despite her pair of black eyes and swollen jaw: her eyes skip around Sickbay, noting people's positions and potential objects useful as weapons. The dark-skinned woman tenses, every muscle in her body tight: she's about to attack.

“Commander, stand down,” Pike orders, his command also a warning for those around her.

Too late: Burnham's hand flashes out, almost too fast to see, and scoops up a laser scalpel.

“Michael, no,” Spock says sharply, trying to reach her with quick steps.

Burnham doesn't try to attack anyone. Instead, she tilts her head and uses the scalpel to cut her own throat.

And then there is chaos.

/////

Georgiou is standing outside her quarters giving Michael's foster parents and brother her very best never-gonna-happen Emperor expression. “Are you deficient, Vulcan?” she asks Sarek, with noticeable condescension. “She doesn't want to see you. She doesn't want to speak with you. And she certainly isn't going anywhere near that supposed physician you brought with you. Respect her wishes, and be on your way.”

“We can force the issue,” Spock says with absolute calmness.

The Terran grins. “Please. Try.”

Lady Amanda steps aggressively into Georgiou's space. Her voice is very quiet when she speaks, barely more than a whisper – but her eyes are hard and cold and hold nothing of the kindness for which she is well-known. “Listen, Philippa – you and I are much alike. I know what you've done for Michael, and I am very grateful. But I will see her – now – and I will have no more trouble from you.”

Georgiou rakes her eyes slowly down the Ambassador's human wife, taking in the fine fabric of her gown, the way she stands with feet firmly planted shoulder-width apart, the soft hands curled into fists half-hidden in the sleeves of her gown. “I recognize you now,” Georgiou informs her in a slow, measured tone. She takes a deliberate step to the side, making a flourishing, mocking gesture to the doors of her quarters.

As Amanda moves past her, Georgiou lightly catches her arm. Their eyes lock, some message passing wordlessly between them; then the Terran releases her, and the Lady passes between the doors.

Unsurprisingly, Georgiou has made some “modifications” to her quarters. For one thing, they shouldn't be this large – certainly not on a starship. There shouldn't be this many rooms, either: a sitting area, what looks like a bar/food prep area, a restroom, at least two bedrooms, doorways that lead to who-knows-where. Holo-emitters, maybe? It doesn't matter.

Michael is sitting on the small couch, perfectly composed, her back straight, her clothes casual, of no particular style. (Is it significant that she's not in uniform?)

Behind the couch stands Lieutenant Tyler. He's leaning against a table, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face looking for all the world as if he expects trouble, and is more than ready to meet it head-on. And he's got a phaser strapped to his right thigh. Amanda somehow doubts it's the only weapon the man has about him.

“Michael,” Amanda says, love and relief and pride in her voice.

“Mother,” Michael says, standing quickly to embrace her foster mother. She hides her face against Amanda's shoulder, and the two women stand silently rocking each other for awhile.

Eventually they sit together on the couch. Amanda looks at the still-glowering Lieutenant. “I would speak with my daughter privately,” she tells him pointedly.

Tyler glances to Michael. She nods, and Tyler moves away, into a bedroom. The doors stay open.

“Your father and brother are waiting to come and be with you,” Amanda tells her. “They're outside. May I tell them to come in? Michael, we've come to take you home.”

Michael smiles a little, shakes her head a little, squeezes Amanda's hands a little. “I love you, Amanda,” she says simply. “And I'm not going back to Vulcan.”

/////

Admiral Cornwell comes to the small Sickbay room soon after. Even she can acknowledge her motives aren't completely altruistic, but what is she to do? Heartless as it is, there are larger problems than one possibly-broken woman, and Burnham seems to have almost as many ties to the Red Angel as Spock does.

Except that she finds Burnham curled into a fetal position, hands pressed over her ears – and the psychiatrist in Cornwell overrides the Admiral.

Burnham isn't possibly broken: this woman is in pieces.

“Commander,” Cornwell says gently. “Michael.”

Burnham looks at her briefly with lost eyes.

“We're going to get you some help,” Cornwell says despite herself. Despite everything between them, she hasn't forgotten that it was Burnham who found her on the Klingon prison ship. Burnham who helped her get out. “What do you need until then?”

Burnham's expression is total confusion. “Do you – ” She halts, tries again. “Do you know where Ash is?”

Who the hell is Ash? Oh, Tyler. Burnham wants the constantly-angry Section 31 Agent. Not her parents, not her friends – the hybrid who once tried to murder her. This woman is absolutely fractured.

“I'll find out where he is,” Cornwell promises. Gods help her – hasn't this woman been through enough?

“It's okay,” Burnham says suddenly. “This isn't the first time I've had to listen to other be harmed. I just need to rest.”

Cornwell blinks. Of course – Burnham's parents. Twice in a lifetime: two times too many. “Rest,” she tells the woman on the bed, forcing what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

The Admiral doesn't run from the room – these days, she only runs for smoke or blood. But she does beat a hasty retreat.

/////

The transporter tech breaths a sigh of relief as four persons begin to appear on the transporter pads. “I've got them, Captain,” he reports thankfully.

That is, until the figures fully materialize.

Commander Nhan is doubled over, one arm bent at an abnormal angle, obviously broken, while her other hand presses against her abdomen, where it's covered in obscenely bright blood, rather ineffectively holding closed the edges of a deep wound.

Ensign Torrez lies motionless on the transporter pad, his glazed eyes frozen open, obviously dead.

Lieutenant Harrison, on a back pad, is crouched low, wordlessly screaming.

Commander Burnham is down on her knees, sporting a set of black eyes and a swollen jaw. And she's barefoot, for some odd reason. “Sickbay,” she manages to gasp.

“Now, you idiot,” Nhan adds, almost shouting.

The transporter tech executes the order immediately. “Transporter room to Captain Pike. I sent them straight to Sickbay, sir. I think – they're in trouble. All of them,” he adds, feeling ill.

/////

Pike and Tyler somehow end up on a 'lift at the same time, and neither man is too pleased about it. They try to ignore each other, clinging to angry/accusing silence. It doesn't last.

To be fair, Tyler starts it.

“I can't believe you let this happen,” he says, voice low.

Pike doesn't feel the need to justify anything to this eternally-angry man. “Commander Burnham is a bridge officer who routinely leads away missions.” That this one went so terribly wrong is a shame he keeps to himself.

Tyler's done with rules and regulations. “That's bullshit and you know it. You're the captain – you sent her to that place. How is it possible you didn't think they might not see her as fully human? Even the godsdamn crew thinks of her as Vulcan.”

“Since we're being honest, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Pike returns easily. “She's beyond vulnerable right now, and here you are to take advantage of the situation. What happened to your feelings being one hundred percent professional. So between the two of us, who's created the greater transgression?”

“She asked for me,” the Lieutenant says, voice almost a growl.

“And what kind of mental state does that imply?” the Captain returns sharply. “Asking for the person who once tried to murder her. Whether you like it or not, you're taking advantage of the situation – of her.”

“Well, at least I'm not the one who put her in this mess,” Tyler shoots back. “You're the one who has to live with it. Have fun with that.”

Pike's never come so close to hitting a junior officer in his entire career.

/////

Georgiou crouches down next to the biobed, tries to catch the eyes of the figure curled on her side, all but hidden by a blanket. The woman has her hands over her ears, her eyes locked closed, is rocking herself in obvious distress.

“Michael,” Philippa calls softly. When she gets no response, she says louder, “Michael!”

Dark eyes snap open. “Captain,” Burnham breathes. Her hands come away from her ears, the rocking stops – but her eyes are filled with confusion. “Philippa?” Her voice is low, confused. “Where's Ash?”

“On his way,” Georgiou assures her gently. “He'll be here soon. Michael, you – ” She stops, tries again. “You must let yourself rest, sleep.”

“I can't – it's too loud,” Burnham replies, eyes nervously darting around the (empty, near-silent) room in Sickbay. “Emperor – Mother – I know it's weakness to ask, but just for tonight, could you make the screaming stop? No agonizer booths, no interrogations, no bio-tests? Please, just for a little while?”

Georgiou blinks, disoriented, feeling like she's back in her own universe, her own Empire, her own ship. Cautiously she brushes a hand over Michael's cheek – her Michael – just as she had when her Michael was a child. “You'll sleep, if I do so?”

Burnham nods quickly, like a little girl. “Promise.” 

The Terran hasn't felt her eyes sting with tears in so long, she almost doesn't recognize the sensation. This entire fucking situation never would have happened in her universe. “For you, Little One, I will do this.”

Michael almost smiles. “Thank you.”

“Close your eyes now,” Georgiou says softly. She has to blink again and again to force back the weakness of tears. She watches Michael obey, lie still as her breathing evens out and slows.

Georgiou reaches for anger, the only tool she knows to beat back the awful grief crushing her chest. Revenge, revenge: she's going to exterminate the entire Whall race for what they've done.

Burnham abruptly sits up, drawing a sharp breath. “Section 31 can't have Spock,” she says, voice low and fierce. “I won't let you take him.”

The former Emperor raises empty hands, makes a calming gesture. “That's over now, Michael. Your brother is safe. Now lie back down, let yourself rest. You must.”

Burnham looks around, clearly confused. “I don't – ” Her voice fades, and reluctantly she lies back down. “Is Ash here?”

“Soon,” Georgiou promises, silently damning the hybrid for taking so long. “Close your eyes. Rest now.” After a moment, the once-Emperor adds, “You promised.”

But Georgiou can find no satisfaction when Michael (her Michael?) does as she's told.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parts and pieces, none of which should fit, but do.

ii.

. . .Well, those who speak know nothin'  
And find out to their cost  
Like those who curse their luck in too many places  
And those who fear are lost. . .  
~Sting

Bryce says, “I've got it, Captain. Trying to clean up the signal now – ”

Abruptly a static message fills the sudden silence of the bridge, cutting in and out, sporadic at best. “. . .Burnham to. . .four to beam. . .”

And behind Burnham's voice, Nhan's shouting: “Get us the fuck outta here, _Disc –_ Captain, now –”

And screaming. Lots of screaming.

“Owo, pull them out now,” Pike orders. “Rhys, watch those Whall ships. If they make any aggressive moves, use phasers to keep them off us. Pike to Stamets: is the Spore Drive set? We're going to need to get the hell outta Dodge in a few minutes here.”

“Ready, Captain,” Stamets replies. “Just say when.”

“Got them,” Owo announces, voice heavy with relief.

“Now, Mr. Stamets,” Pike orders.

Seru informs them, “Six Whall ships converging on our location. They're in attack formation, firing now.”

 _Discovery_ rocks from the impact.

“Warning shots having no effect,” Rhys advises. “Captain?”

“ _When,_ Mr. Stamets. _When!”_ Pike orders. “Jump now!”

/////

 _Discovery_ jumps.

///// 

While Lady Amanda speaks with her almost-daughter, Georgiou waits in the corridor with Sarek and Spock.

Glancing briefly at the younger Vulcan, she declares, “I wish to speak to Sarek alone. Go, be somewhere else.”

Spock doesn't even blink. “No.”

“It wasn't a request,” Georgiou informs him, smiling.

Sarek looks at his son and silently inclines his head. Spock's eyes narrow, but he turns and walks away.

“Once again, you have confused my ward with your daughter,” Sarek says calmly. “How often will you make the same mistake, Emperor?”

Georgiou huffs a brief laugh. “Tell me, Vulcan, how much harm would you like to cause the Whall for what they've done?”

Blinking, the Ambassador replies, “Vengeance is illogical. It changes nothing.”

The Terran's smile grows sly, like he's told her a secret. “That much, hmmm? We could make that happen, you and I. Together.”

Sarek steadily regards her for a long moment. “I believe that would be unwise.”

“We'll see what you think if your fair wife convinces Michael to see you – which, somehow, I believe she might,” Georgiou returns.

Again Sarek holds to silence – until, abruptly, he doesn't. “What do you have in mind, Emperor?”

And Georgiou's smile grows.

/////

“You cannot stop me from visiting my own sister,” Spock informs Georgiou calmly, although there may be a hint of irritation around his eyes.

Georgiou smiles, but it's more like a barring of teeth. “Such arrogance. She doesn't want to see you, Vulcan. Your insistence to overrule her wishes is embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for you.” Which might be more convincing if she could keep the amusement off her face.

“Oh, Philippa – Captain – whoever the hell you want to be – just can it,” Admiral Cornwell grumbles, coming to stand at Spock's side. “You aren't actually Burnham's keeper; you don't get to decide who gets in.”

“You think not?” Georgiou's grin widens. “And what altruistic reason brings you to her, hmm? Something to do with the Red Angel, perhaps?”

“I could have you confined to the brig, you know,” Cornwell says, half smiling, completely unintimidated by the former Emperor.  


Georgiou laughs. “You could try.”

“Perhaps we should simply call Security,” Spock suggests.

“Bad idea,” Pollard casually advises as she walks past.

“Georgiou, just back off,” Nhan calls from across the room. “Burnham's a big girl. And some of us are trying to sleep over here.”

The Terran rolls her eyes. “Then sleep, Barzon, and stop talking.” Her eyes slide to Spock and narrow. “One word from her, Vulcan, and I'll remove you myself.”

Spock stops moving past her long enough to say, “You are much more violent than your service record indicates.”

Cornwell tries valiantly to hide her laugh beneath a dry cough. Across the room, Nhan swears in some language the Universal Translator can't interpret. Georgiou laughs, delighted.

Inside the small room, Spock finds Michael turned on her side, away from the doors, an arm over her face. He goes to the side of the bed, faces her. Briefly he flashes back to their childhood, when so often he had questions, and knew not how to ask them.

“Go away, Spock,” she tells him, not even sparing him a glance. “Now's not a good time.”

“You – are injured,” he says slowly. The truth of it causes a most illogical reaction: anger that makes his head hurt, fear that lodges in his chest. Her physical injuries have been healed – even the self-inflicted one – but a fever still rages through her. And she's shutting him out completely, but he can still tell that her mind is unwell.

“I'm tired,” Michael corrects him. “I just need to rest.”

Moment turns to moment. He realizes she is grievously wrong, has been wounded down to the core of herself. Her fever is high – she may not fully comprehend her mental injury. After all, she did try to end her life while in the middle of Sickbay (a most illogical action.) ( _A desperate act,_ his human part corrects.) “Let me help you,” he says evenly. When the offer is met with stony silence, he adds, “Michael. You came to my aid when all but a few were against me. Allow me to help ease your suffering.”

Because she _is_ suffering, greatly. And it would not simply be illogical, but also _wrong_ to leave her in such a state.

“I neither need nor want your help,” Michael informs him, her voice cold as any Vulcan's.

She is as stubborn as the day they met. He'd shut the door in her face, and she'd simply knocked, as if it had been an accident. But now he is uninjured, and more stubborn. He reaches for her hand – 

“No,” she says sharply, jerking violently away from him.

Too late. Even that brief contact gave him a clear sense of her mind. . .the tapestry of her genuine self, the warp and weft of brilliance, ingenuity, courage, emotion. The tapestry has been sliced to tatters, the strips set aflame; only ash and threads hold it together. “ _Ko-kai,"_ he breathes, appalled and afraid, more afraid for her than he has been since she ran away as a child.

Michael's sitting up in bed now, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide with just as much fear. “You can't tell Father.”

So much emotion, so much fear. It's as much his as hers. Briefly he closes his eyes against it, shakes his head. “He already knows. He and Mother are traveling here now to get you, and take you home.”

She locks her jaw, shakes her head. “No,” she says after a moment. “I won't go, not to Vulcan, just so a bunch of telepaths can tell me how broken I am – a weak Human, deserving of pity. I won't go.” She turns her head and calls, “Philippa!”

The one-time Terran Emperor is at her side in an instant. “I warned you, Vulcan.” Georgiou isn't smiling anymore.

“Please escort my brother out,” Michael asks, looking at her hands. “He has many duties to attend.”

“Sister, let me help you,” Spock protests, almost aghast at her refusal. “We are family.” 

“Not for a long time have we been such,” Michael returns sharply. “You yourself said so.”

“Leave, Vulcan, before I make you leave,” Georgiou warns.

“Cease your pointless threats,Agent,” Spock counters. “I am far stronger than you.”

Michael abruptly covers her ears, her eyes locked tightly. “Stop!”

Georgiou circles the bed towards him, murder in her dark eyes.

His presence is triggering Michael's distress. “I will return later,” he promises her, turning to leave.

“You will not,” Georgiou promises him, following closely at his heels.

/////

Cornwell and Pike have just walked onto the bridge when Rhys announces, “Captain, long-range sensors are picking up two large ships heading our way. ETA: nine minutes.”

“Can you tell who they are?” Cornwell asks. If they're Whall, _Discovery_ will either have to jump or fight – and with the atmosphere flashing through the crew, she'd bet the crew will push for a fight.

After a moment Rhys answers, “They're Vulcan.” There's a measure of relief in his voice, but confusion tempers his tone when he adds, “They're not – Captain, they're warships.”

“Fucking hell,” Cornwell mutters under her breath. “This is going to get ugly.”

“How long before Leland gets here?” Pike asks her softly.

The Admiral shrugs. “An hour, maybe less. Depends how hard he pushes his ship.”

“Since we're about to have a diplomatic crisis, I suggest you encourage him to get here ASAP,” Pike offers.

“No shit,” Cornwell returns, turning to head for the Ready Room.

On screen, the pair of Vulcan ships drop out of warp. For self-proclaimed pacifists, the Vulcans really do build scary-as-hell warships.

“Ambassador Sarek, Lady Amanda, and Doctor P'Ren are requesting permission to beam over, sir,” Bryce tells Pike.

“Granted.” Pike thinks to himself, _Let the games begin._

/////

Tyler is pissed as hell when he walks into Sickbay, and he doesn't even try to hide it. He got shipped out on some bullshit assignment because of his skills with Klingon culture and linguistics – and while he was off doing busy work, Michael went off on some dangerous mission and barely made it back.

“Where's Burnham?” he demands of the first white-uniformed person he sees.

“Tyler,” Georgiou calls, her voice cutting through Sickbay's chatter. The former Emperor is standing in the threshold of one of Sickbay's small, private rooms. Her arms are folded across her chest, her eyes hard – and her demeanor scares Tyler more than the abrupt silence that falls after she calls to him.

“How bad?” he asks Georgiou when he reaches her, knowing she will neither lie nor coddle him.

Georgiou steps back, allowing him into the room. “Bad,” she says shortly. Briefly she catches his arm before he can move past. “Be careful about touching her.”

What? Are her injuries still unhealed? What the hell is going on? But he says nothing, only nods and moves towards the room's only biobed.

For a moment he thinks there's no one there, but the monitor above it displays Human life signs. Blinking, he realizes what he'd thought was a pile of blankets is actually a person, curled into a tight ball, formed into the smallest space possible. He drops to his knees beside it.

Michael's got her chin tucked to her chest, arms clasped protectively over her head, legs pulled in tightly to protect her abdomen. It's a position of last resort, reserved for when one is usually on the ground and unable to do more than minimize damage from multiple attackers. He's seen her teach it, but never use it.

He looks a question at Georgiou, who's still standing watch in the doorway: _What the hell happened?_

Georgiou's jaw tightens and she shakes her head.

Tyler's eyes turn back to the can't-be-Michael on the bed. He says her name, trying to keep the fear from his voice. When there's no response, he leans closer, tries again.

Still nothing.

Good gods. He brings his mouth close to her ear, whispers a word he hasn't heard her use in a very long time. _”T'hy'la.”_

Immediately her eyes snap open and she uncurls enough to life her head and look at him. “Ash.” Prayer, promise, plea – it's like his name is the answer to every question she's ever had.

“Hey,” he says gently. When she reaches out a hand to him, he grasps it firmly in both of his. Her eyes – gods, her eyes. Wide, wild, and dark. What the hell happened.

Rather than ask, he tells her, “Sorry it took so long to get here.” _I'm sorry I wasn't here,_ is what he really means.

 _I am here to protect you,_ he'd said once, and failed her then, too. Now all he can do is pick up the pieces. “What do you need?” he asks, voice low.

She searches his face, looking for something he prays she finds. “Can you get me out of here?” she asks finally.

He nods, decision instantly made. “Absolutely. Where do you want to go?”

It almost makes him ill when she answers. Her large eyes are swimming with tears. “I don't – with you?”

Glancing at Georgiou, he asks, “Can you walk?”

The tears spill down her face.

/////

When Sarek is granted entrance to Georgiou's quarters, Michael is on her feet, face impassive, hands behind her back. Tyler is again oh-so-casually leaning against the table behind the small couch.

Michael offers him the traditional _ta'al_ and greeting. Emotion is nowhere in her voice.

He returns the gesture before his eyes slide to the man behind them. “Let us speak privately, daughter.”

Michael looks to Tyler and faintly shakes her head.

“You would choose the council of man who once attempted to murder you over the trust of family?” Sarek asks, arching an eyebrow. “This is an illogical choice. It speaks greatly to your illness.”

“It's her choice to make,” Tyler says.

Sarek ignores him. “Michael, it is imperative that you receive medical assistance as soon as possible.” He pauses. “I – knew something unimaginable had taken place, even before the Whall sent their – proof. Daughter, it is illogical to feel shame over events that you could not prevent.”

Slowly Michael blinks. “I regret that you are aware of such events. I recognize my actions have brought dishonor to our House.”

“You cannot be held responsible for things you could not change,” the Ambassador denies. “And your claim of bringing dishonor to our House is incorrect. T'Pau is quite displeased over your treatment. It was she who instructed the warships be brought to fetch you.”

“Respectfully, Father, our family matriarch has never made a secret of her desire to rid our House of the full-blooded Human in its ranks,” Michael answers frankly.

Sarek genuinely frowns now. “Not so. Even when you were court-marshaled by Starfleet, T'Pau insisted that you be repatriated to Vulcan, but you confessed and were sentenced before that could take place. She insists that you return to Vulcan now to undergo the treatment of our healers.”

“Let me be honest,” Michael says evenly. “The only thing I need is rest. I am not going back to Vulcan, I'm not going anywhere near telepaths of any race anytime soon. I greatly respect you, _sa-mekh,_ and our family and our House – but I require time and rest to recover. That is all.”

“I remain unconvinced.” Sarek reaches out to lay a hand on her shoulder.

Michael quickly steps back; Tyler is over the couch and between the two of them in an instant.

“You need to leave. Now,” the Lieutenant instructs.

“I do not answer to you, Lieutenant,” Sarek informs him coldly.

“Sarek, please.” Michael pulls herself together enough to offer the _ta'al_ before turning and retreating into a back room.

“Now,” Tyler repeats strongly.

/////

“Hell, no. Are you insane?” Pollard flat-out asks Georgiou.

“She still as a raging fever, and let's not overlook the fact that she seriously harmed herself only a short while ago,” Culber adds, trying to sound calmer than his coworker (although he certainly doesn't feel that way. And he can't believe he has to deal with fucking Ash Tyler _again._ )

“You can't force her to stay here,” Tyler argues.

“Are you kidding me?” Pollard returns. “I'm the CMO – I can confine the godsdamn captain if it's medically necessary. And the Commander? She's not going anywhere, I promise you.”

“I will watch over her in my quarters,” Georgiou decrees, waiving away Pollard's concerns. When Tyler gives the former Emperor the what-the-fuck? look, she rolls her eyes and amends, “We will look after her. You may come to administer medications, if you don't trust us.”

Culber can already tell that logic isn't going to win this fight. “Doctor Culber to Captain Pike. Can you come to Sickbay, sir? We seem to be having a disagreement with Captain Georgiou.” Or whatever the hell she calls herself these days.

“On my way,” Pike responds, somehow sounding unsurprised.

“This is ridiculous,” Georgiou declares while waiting for the Captain.

”Agreed,” Pollard says. “You two are being really stupid here. You can't take a critically ill person out of Sickbay.”

Culber could tell Pollard that trying to reason with Tyler and this Georgiou is the equivalent of arguing with a bulkhead, but really, what would be the point.

To be fair, Pike does make it to Sickbay in record time. He picks up on the tension between the two pairs immediately. “What's the issue?”

“They want to take Commander Burnham to Georgiou's quarters,” Pollard tells him, as if it's the worst idea she's heard in months.

“It's far better than here,” Georgiou repeats, waiving a hand around at Sickbay in general.

“Hey,” Culber protests.

“No,” Pike says bluntly. When Georgiou opens her mouth, he adds, “Don't even start. Burnham's staying here – for now, anyway. Ambassador Sarek and his wife will be here in a few days to take her back to Vulcan.”

“That's not going to happen,” Tyler announces bluntly.

Pike shoots him an annoyed look. “You don't get a say here, Lieutenant. Everything was calm until you arrived. I don't know what you said to her – ”

“All due respect, but why don't you consult with someone who was actually there with Burnham,” Nhan grouses from across the room. “And since Kellan and Torrez are dead, and Harrison's gone insane, and you obviously won't talk to Burnham, that leaves me.”

The group exchange heavy, silent glances, then move as a unit to where Nhan rests on a biobed.

“Share your wisdom with us, Barzon,” Georgiou sarcastically invites.

Nhan makes an obscene gesture at her, knowing the heavy meds she's on will give her a free pass. “If the Commander wants to leave, I suggest you let her go. Confinement is the worst thing you can do to her right now: it's exactly what the Whall did.”

Pike's eyebrows shoot up in obvious surprise at this Security Chief's suggestion. “Commander, Burnham's been severely traumatized – ”

“No kidding,” Nhan says, hastily adding, “sir. I was there for the whole adventure. I know I haven't made an official report yet, but I can give you the highlights.”

Tyler is sure beyond a doubt that he doesn't want to know. (Except that he does.) “That's not – ”

“The Whall fucking hate telepaths,” Nhan overrides him. “I've no idea why, since their High Priestesses are telepathic themselves. They know about Vulcans, and when they decided Burnham was a Vulcan, it was all over. It didn't matter that she's biologically Human, that she explained why her – what is it? Soul or spirit or something? Comes across as Vulcan – they didn't care. The Whall acted like we'd personally betrayed them. Kellar and Torrez – they butchered them. You see how well things went for Harrison. And Burnham – fuck, she begged them to stop. Promised them things she never could've delivered.” Nhan turns her head, grinding her teeth.

“You got off light,” Georgiou challenges.

“Because Barzon don't have the faintest telepathic skills,” Nhan scoffs. “And they thought my augments made me deficient.”

“Didn't stop them from trying to gut you,” Pollard observes.

Nhan rolls her eyes. “Because I fought. We all did. And the Whall – ” She looks away briefly. “They'll only smack you around so much before they get serious. A matriarchy – I've never seen such a brutal matriarchy, and after all these years in Starfleet, I thought I'd seen – ” Her voice dies, and she mutely shakes her head.

Culber notes how Nhan's vital signs have shot up into critical value ranges. “It's okay – that's enough.” He reaches for a hypospray to lower her rapidly climbing blood pressure. The last thing she needs is for something to tear open in her gut. “Take some deep breaths.”

Nhan glares at him before looking to Pike. “Captain, you have to understand – the more Burnham tried to reason with them, the worse things got. Like they were trying to break her. Like Harrison. And she tried so hard to get us out, promised them anything – ”

Culber slants Pike the calm-her-down-now look. The Barzon Commander is going to pass out if she can't regain equilibrium.

“Nhan, I hear you,” Pike assures her. “You think Bunham should be released to Georgiou's care. I get it.”

“Respectfully, sir, you don't,” Nhan insists. “She fought for us like she did for Ariam. They – had her pinned down over a table. One leaned down too low, and she – she sunk her teeth into his neck and literally tore his throat out. I've seen her fight, I knew she'd gone up against Klingons and won, but I've never seen someone – ” The Barzon closes her eyes, presses a hand to her still-healing abdomen.

“Enough,” Pollard declares, waving everyone back. She calls up a privacy protocol that hides both her and Nhan behind opaque walls.

“None of that isn't anything Michael hasn't faced down before,” Georgiou dismisses in the sudden silence.

Pike just looks at her.

“What did you think prison was like for her?” Tyler challenges. “Starfleet threw one of their own in with hardened criminals, truly evil people – and they left her there. Do you even know half of what happened while she was locked up?”

Now Pike is glaring at him. “That's enough.”

“And then, of course, there's Gabriel,” Georgiou says brightly. “Shall we discuss what he expected in return for securing her release?”

Culber tosses up his hands. “Okay, we get it. If Burnham agrees to continual monitoring in your quarters, Captain Georgiou – and you swear to watch for any suicidal or self-harming behaviors – I'll personally stop by several times a day to check her status. Assuming that's acceptable to you, Captain,” he adds, looking to Pike.

Pike runs a hand over the back of his neck. “She'll be off this ship soon,” he allows. “Where she stays until then is her call.” Although he already knows Spock will fight this decision with all he has.

Georgiou smiles triumphantly. “I knew you'd see reason,” she gloats.

But when the small group enters Burnham's private room, they find the bed empty, the Commander gone.

“What did you do?” Pike asks Tyler bluntly, because of course the hybrid had something to do with it.

Georgiou snorts. “Captain Pike – take a moment. I know where Michael is.”

“And where's that?” Pike demands.

“Wherever she wants to be, of course,” the Terran says, as if it's obvious.

/////


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things break, shatter, splinter, and can only sometimes be mended.

iii.

. . .I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier  
I know that the clubs are weapons of war  
I know that diamonds mean money for this art. . .  
~Sting 

Pike watches Burnhm push Culber and the equipment he's using to heal her (numerous) injuries away from her. She leverages herself off the biobed, her legs almost unable to hold her weight when she tries to stand.

“Hey, Burnham, you can't – ” Culber starts, reaching out to stop her.

Emotion nowhere on her face, Burnham's hand shoots out to grasp the space between the doctor's neck and shoulder. Culber drops like a stone, unconscious, and Burnham walks right past him with the marching-steps that are all her legs' cut tendons will allow her.

“Burnham!” Pike says sharply, moving to intercept her.

His bridge officer completely ignores him, moves to the corner of Sickbay, where Lieutenant Harrison is crouched on the floor, crushed against the bulkhead, screaming for all she's worth. The three medical personnel attempting to calm her aren't having any luck, despite their soothing voices, reassurances, non-threatening demeanors.

“Get away from her,” Burnham tells them. When they react too slowly, doubtfully, Burnham raises her voice. “Now,” she demands sharply.

“We have it, Commander,” the closest medic assures her.

So Burnham calmly executes a nerve-pinch on him as well, and pushes his limp form out of the way to awkwardly fall to her knees before the howling Lieutenant. The other two medics quickly move off.

“Sarah,” Burnham calls loudly, catching the still-screaming woman by the shoulders. “Enough.”

The Lieutenant's screams fall to choking sobs. “Michael – Michael, they're coming for us again.” The young woman's eyes are wild, darting everywhere; her hands clutch at Burnham's arms.

“Look where we are,” Burnham tells her. “We got out. We're safe now.”

Harrison shakes her head frantically. “It's not real! It's not!”

Burnham sighs, then literally pulls the beyond-distraught young woman against her. “Sleep now,” she advises. Rocking the sobbing Lieutenant, Burnham starts to sing.

The silence that suddenly smothers Sickbay is immediate and profound.

Pike freezes, as shocked as every other person in the room.

Commander Nhan, who had been giving a brief summary of events to Seru, makes a noise in the back of her throat. “She'd do that to make us rest,” the Barzon mutters, voice noticeably subdued. Her eyes blink slowly, start to slide closed. “No psi-abilities, my ass,” she manages to force out before her eyes close completely and her head lolls to the side, breathing deeply in sleep.

Seru clucks his tongue and looks at his pseudo-sister in the corner.

Burnham's voice is high, wavering, her words Vulcan, the key sharper than any Human song.

“A child's song,” Spock explains, coming to stand at Pike's shoulder. “About the coming of rain, and the certainty of a broken drought.”

“A lullaby,” the Captain summarizes.

In her arms, Harrison has gone limp and silent.

“Our mother would sing it to us when we were young and distressed. I was unaware Michael remembered it.”

“Your sister's not nearly as stable as she seems,” Pike warns him. “She just knocked out two medics who got between her and Harrison.”

“Indeed,” Spock agrees simply. “Michael never sings.”

While everyone else seems mesmerized or frozen, Pike quickly steps up behind Burnham, reaching to catch her arm to help her stand.

“Don't,” Burnham warns before he actually touches her. “I'm injured.”

“So let's get that checked out,” Pike tells her, keeping his voice soft to prevent waking the Lieutenant.

“She's not asleep deeply enough yet,” Burnham disagrees, continuing to rock the girl. Blood runs down from the wounds above her heels and makes twin crimson pools on the floor. “If she wakes, she'll only start screaming again.” Burnham takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “And I am so, so tired of listening to screams.”

Pollard manages to snake around Burnham, inject a hypospray at Harrison's neck. “She's out, Commander,” the doctor says gently. “That sedative will keep her under for hours.”

Slowly Burnham stops rocking, releases the young woman to Pollard and a set of medics.

Pike helps Burnham to stand, but when Spock approaches to help, she holds up her hands in warning. “No,” she tells her brother fiercely. “Stay back.”

“I wish you no harm,” Spock replies evenly. “Your behavior is illogical.” When he takes another step forward, Burnham's hands clench into fists and her stance changes, like she's expecting an attack, or preparing to start one. “Final warning,” she says, voice low.

Almost like magic, Georgiou appears between the siblings. She shoves Spock sharply in the chest, making him fall back a pace. “Keep your place, Vulcan,” she hisses. To Pike she adds, “Control your officer, or else I will.”

“You're not helping,” Pike tells her sharply.

“Captain,” Burnham says, surprise obvious in her voice.

Both Pike and Georgiou turn to look at her.

“Philippa,” Burnham clarifies, motioning for Georgiou to come closer. With a parting glare at Spock, Georgiou goes to her. “Michael, you need medical attention. Right now.”

Glancing around nervously, Burnham lowers her voice. “Emperor – Gabriel, he's going to get his people out. You have to execute him, and you have to do it now.” 

Slowly Georgiou nods. “Already done. Be easy, Michael. Do you know where you are?”

Doubt flashes across the Commander's face, nearly hidden by her blackened eyes. “The _Charon._ No, the _Shenzhou._ Right?”

The former Emperor blinks. “Of course. Let's get a physician to look at you. I believe a fever is confusing you.”

Burnham nods, starts to follow Georgiou back to a biobed. “Perhaps. I am terribly cold.”

Across the room, Nhan makes a restless sound in her sleep, struggles against nothing until Seru lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

/////

Pike looks up from his PADD when Burnham walks into the Ready Room. Ariam's funeral is still painfully fresh in everyone's mind, including Burnham's, although she's keeping everything carefully locked down behind her stoic Vulcan mask.

“You asked to see me, sir?” Burnham asks politely, absolutely no emotion in her voice.

Admiral Cornwell is standing just behind Pike, reading the PADD over his shoulder. She really wishes Burnham wouldn't pull the Vulcan act: it makes the woman hard as hell to read. Shit, she works with actual Vulcans – from other Admirals to aids – and they're easier to get a read on than Spock's sister. “Some new information has been found concerning the Red Angel. It's not another signal, exactly, but the trace readings indicate it may have been there recently.”

“What do you know about Planet 748, also known as Whallmet?” Pike asks, because at this point, he's pretty much convinced that this Commander knows at least a little about everything.

“Not much,” Burnham confesses. “It's technologically advanced enough for Federation membership, allegedly – but it's people, the Whall, are a rather xenophobic matriarchy.”

Pike nods, hands her the PADD he'd been reading. “Pretty much. They'll talk to us, even occasionally allow an envoy to visit, but really, they don't want much to do with outsiders.”

“They've agreed to let us take a small party to the surface to investigate the Red Angel connection,” Cornwell adds, watching Burnham rapidly scanning the PADD.

“We have a crewman who's been there before,” Burnham says, almost sounding surprised. Almost.

“Lieutenant Harrison,” Pike agrees. “It was about eight years ago, when she was doing a rotation in exobiology. She agrees with your analysis that their culture strays dangerously close to xenophobia, but generally only concerning telepaths. According to her, their religious leaders are telepaths, and they don't like competition.”

“So only psi-null persons will be included in this mission.” Burnham nods. “What about other species?”

“The Lieutenant says, so long as they're relatively humanoid, the Whall tolerate them,” supplies Cornwell. “So you, Harrison, Security Chief Nhan and a few of her people will go to the surface, gather the relevant data, and return to _Discovery._ Play nice, but for gods' sakes, don't wear out our welcome.”

Again Burnham nods. “Understood. I'll get the team together. When do we leave?”

“Stamets is going to jump us there, so within the hour or so,” Pike answers. “Nhan already knows to be watching for you. Dismissed.”

Burnham's almost at the doors when Pike adds, “And Burnham? Be careful down there. The Whall are still somewhat of a mystery to us.”

“Of course, sir. Admiral.”

Once the Commander is gone, Cornwell looks at Pike, smirking. “Care to place a wager that this becomes the new thing she and Spock fight about?”

Pike rolls his eyes. “No bet. But they do seem to be getting along better since the funeral.”

“Wow, almost a whole day. Impressive,” Cornwell returns dryly.

/////

Tyler comes out of the bedroom roughly tying the strings on his loose sleeping pants. Shit – what is he supposed to do? The last woman he was with was Michael, but that was months and months ago – but he can't fuck her now, not even if she says that's what she wants. . . She's in no mental place to make that decision. It'd make him just like those Whall bastards. He won't be like them, he won't. Instead he goes into the small head, splashes water on his face.

Georgiou is standing at her mini-bar, drinking something amber when he comes out. “You are an idiot,” she informs him between sips.

“Excuse me?” he returns, already guessing what the former Emperor means.

Georgiou half turns towards him. “If she wants you to fuck her, then do it,” she says bluntly.

“This is none of your business,” he snaps.

The Terran rolls her eyes.”Are all of you prudes in this universe, or just the people I know?” she bemoans. “What do you think Michael is in there thinking right now? That you won't touch her because of what happened.”

Tyler replies hotly, “That's not it! I won't be like those – those animals.”

“I promise you, that's not what she's thinking,” Georgiou assures him. “She hates herself right now, and you just gave her another reason.”

He absolutely isn't going to discuss this with Georgiou. “It's none of your business.”

“Oh, but it is,” the Terran counters. “You seem confused about your role here. Your job is to fix Michael. Mine is to keep others away while you do so. Are you confused, hybrid? I can explain it to you in more basic terms.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “You know what? Go to hell. You don't know what you're talking about.”

Georgiou sets her glass down, comes close enough to him to meet his eyes. “You sound so very sure of that,” she says evenly, before turning and walking out of the quarters.

The doors slide shut behind her; Tyler glances towards the bedroom where Michael lies silent in the large bed.

What the hell is he supposed to do?

Michael is turned away from him, facing the wall. “Just go to sleep, Ash,” she advises, voice tired and low.

He doesn't know what he's doing. Sliding beneath the blankets behind her, he catches her hand, presses it against his erection. “I still want you. I really do. But I remember what it felt like after I got off the Klingon prison ship – me, Ash, remembers. And it's just – ”

She turns towards him. “When did I lose the right to make my own decisions?”

Shit. “You never did,” he assures her, careful not to mention that he has more than a slight idea of how mixed-up she is right now.

She pulls her hand away, shuffles around a bit, then pulls him against her. “Then show me.”

 _Bad idea, bad idea,_ races around his mind. Godsdammit, he wants her, wants to make her feel so good she screams, but he can't. He just can't. He'd go sleep on the couch if he didn't believe that would really crush the woman nipping and licking at his neck. So he compromises, slides down and uses his mouth instead. 

Later he gently he traces small circles against her stomach. “Better?”

In answer she kisses him, slow and emotional. Gods help him, it makes him want to start over, go really slow and easy, like they have endless time.

Except that when Michael breaks the kiss, she pulls away from him, sits up on the side of the bed and puts her face in her hands.

What happened?

“Hey, what's going on?” he asks, hands sliding over her shoulders.

“Nothing.” She doesn't sound unhappy, but she does try to shrug off his touch.

He's not going for it. Instead he wraps himself around her, his chest pressed against her back, chin on her shoulder. “Try again,” he says softly.

She's silent for awhile, then sighs and leans back against him. “It's just – ” She stops.

He waits.

“I'm – I am so tired of this life,” she finally says slowly. “I don't want it anymore.”

Holy shit. Is she suicidal again? Does he drag her back to Sickbay or call for her Vulcan dad (who absolutely hates him, Ash is sure.) Fuck, he actually wishes Georgiou would come back – the former Emperor seems to be the only person who understands Michael these days.

“So, what _do_ you want?” he finally dares to ask.

“I don't know.” Her voice breaks on the last word. “You?” She presses her lips to his knuckles, and that's when he realizes she's crying.

He hates it when she cries.

/////

The away team is more than six hours overdue. There's been zero contact from them, and _Discovery's_ hails and requests for updates seem to be going nowhere. Both Pike and Cornwell know this is a bad sign, but have kept their concerns to themselves. Not that the bridge crew is totally in the dark: Pike has never heard Tilly be so silent for so long, and the more time goes by, the more often Detmer and Owo exchange wordless, worried looks.

“We're being hailed from the surface, sir,” Bryce says finally, around hour seven. “It's Liaison Councilwoman Actul.”

“About time,” Cornwell mutters.

“On screen,” Pike tells Bryce. He stands to face the Whall liaison, noticing how her skin has changed from a blueish-purple to deep emerald. Her slanted amethyst eyes have narrowed to crimson slits. This seems – inauspicious. But Pike keeps his voice friendly, his expression open. “Councilwoman – it's good to see you. We were starting to get concerned. Did you decide to further extend your hospitality to our team? Has there been a complication with the data collection?”

The Whall female doesn't even try to be diplomatic. “You lied to us,” she says stiffly. “We asked one thing in exchange for our cooperation – one. And you did what we asked you not to do, anyway. This infraction will neither be overlooked nor unpunished.”

Pike walks towards the screen with his hands up in a pacifying gesture. “Councilwoman, I assure you –”

“You sent a telepath to spy on us!” the Whall snarls. “Federation espionage. What do you truly want from us? Technology, natural resources? Your plan has been discovered – at least be truthful about your motivations.”

Cornwell steps forward as well. “I vow to you, Councilwoman, the only people we sent were four Humans and one Barzon. Not a single one of them has any telepathic abilities at all. None of them.”

“And still you lie, just as your crew.” The crimson-eyed female shakes her head, obviously angry. “We know of the planet Vulcan, and its people. Did you truly believe us that ignorant?” 

There was only one person on the away team who'd ever spent more than a few weeks of shore leave on Vulcan. Spock is at the science station; Pike is careful not to turn and look at him. “Commander Burnham was taken in by a Vulcan family after her parents' murder, but she is fully Human. She has absolutely zero telepathic abilities.”

The female on the screen actually hisses at him.”She is of Vulcan. The High Priestesses have sworn it.”

Quietly Pike hears Tilly cry, “Her katra,” before the Ensign smacks a hand over her mouth.

“Councilwoman, this is a mistake,” Cornwell says calmly. “Test her DNA –”

“Silence,” the Whall demands. “What is done is finished. Your people will not return to you. I send you this vid-clip as proof of the barbarity of your own crew. It was sent to her people as well. Now go, and do not return.” The female's image promptly disappears.

“They sent a data packet, Captain,” Bryce announces. “But they've terminated contact.”

Pike and Cornwell exchange glances. Do they want this vid viewed by the entire bridge crew, including Burnham's brother and best friend? But if they don't, how much worse will the rumors be?

Cornwell reluctantly nods, and Pike orders, “Put it on screen.”

The image is hazy at first, then abruptly sharpens: Burnham gets a hard shove into the frame. The glare she turns on her captors only serves to highlight her matching black eyes and swollen jaw. Her hands are bound before her, tightly enough that the bonds have cut the skin of both wrists. Her uniform is filthy, and, oddly enough, she's barefoot, and more marching than walking the way she's being pushed to go.

Tilly makes a strangled sound.

In the background, Pike can vaguely make out the sound of a woman's unending screams, and, more loudly, Commander Nhan's voice as she swears and demands Burnham's return. Repeatedly.

Detmer looks down at her station, covers her face with a hand.

On screen, Burnham gets shoved into a table that has something lying on it. After a moment Pike realizes it's one of Nhan's Security people: Ensign Kellan. The young man has been tied down and sliced open from sternum to pelvis, but his weak, gasping breaths prove he's still alive.

A Whall (out of sight) gives Burnham an order. The Commander says, “I will – but first I have to bless him.”

Cornwell and Pike exchange wary looks.

“I have to touch him,” Burnham adds. She must receive some sort of permission, because she stumbles to Kellan's head and brushes her fingers over his forehead.

Kellan tries to say something, can't.

Burnham smiles so very gently down at him, it makes Pike cringe. He's only seen her smile like that twice the entire (albeit brief) time he's known her. “My name's Michael. And you're David, right?”

Swallowing harshly, Kellan manages a small nod.

“I bless you, David,” Burnham says softly, her hands sliding down his cheek to cradle his chin. “All the days of my life, I bless you.”

And then her grasp tightens and twists, breaking Kellan's neck with a sickening crack.

Nilson, still so new to the bridge crew, cries out and turns away.

The Whall are on Burnham in an instant, swarming her, pushing her back over Kellan's body. There's shouting and cursing that the Universal Translator can't parse quickly enough, which might be a blessing. Burnham fights – or, tries to, at least; restrained and bound and injured, it's no contest who wins.

“Stop this,” Seru says, turning to Bryce.

Multiple hands are yanking at Burnham's uniform, ripping fabric, even as she struggles – 

“Off screen now!” Cornwell orders Bryce, who unfreezes long enough to comply.

In the sudden silence, Pike looks at his crew, seeing what is to be expected: shock, disgust, fear. Tilly's sitting on the deck, back against her consul, weeping. Spock has completely turned away from the group, but Pike can see his clenched fists. Rhys has his hands braced atop the tactical screen; white-knuckled; the screen will fracture if his grip tightens any more. Seru's so very blue eyes hold murder.

“And they sent that to Vulcan,” Cornwell mutters, rubbing her forehead. “Godsdammit.”

“An ambassador's daughter, from a highborn House,” Pike adds dully. “This is going to spiral out of control so fast –”

“Going to?” Seru echoes, clucking in anger. “It's already out of control. Our team is dead!”

“They won't kill Michael.”

Pike's head snaps around: Georgiou is casually leaning against the bulkhead beside the 'lift, arms crossed over her chest. When did she come aboard? And who gave her permission to enter the bridge? Not that she's really into asking for permission these days. “You sound sure about that.”

Georgiou uncrosses her arms and strolls forwards. “I am. They'll make an example of her, may even keep the other women alive, too. It is not their way to kill females. Drive them insane, yes, but not kill. They believe females should die by their own hands. Ridiculous religion.” She looks to Cornwell. “I suggest you get some reinforcement ships here to rescue them before that happens. Well, rescue what's left of them. If you wait for the Vulcans. . .”

“So you know about the Whall,” Cornwell challenges. Of course the Terran does, of course.

“I know enough,” Georgiou allows. “I know that they use tactics like beatings, deprivations, and gang rape to compliment their telepaths' abilities to rip apart minds into little pieces –”

“Enough of that,” Seru says sharply.

“They don't even make good slaves.” Georgiou grins at the Kelpian, and even Pike finds the expression scary as hell. “Just like I know Vulcan pacifism is an inflated lie that this entire universe has swallowed whole.” She glances at Cornwell. “What do you think Sarek will do when he sees that, hmm?”

Cornwell blinks. “Sarek's a diplomat –” 

The former Emperor scoffs. “One who endorses genocide. Or have you forgotten that?”

Pike glances at Cornwell, but the Admiral won't meet his eyes.

/////

Georgiou invites herself to the conference room where Michael's immediate future is to be determined. No one appears surprised to see her, although Leland frowns and Cornwell rolls her eyes.

There's Pike and Cornwell and Leland and Pollard and Culber and Sarek and Amanda; Georgiou takes the last chair at the table.

“Doesn't anyone think Michael should be here? I'm all for totalitarianism, of course, but you people tend to avoid it.” The Terran finds it ironic that she's become the “enlightened” one of the group. Seriously, she's been in this universe too long, it's starting to corrupt her. 

There's arguing and disagreement and blame on all sides. Georgiou checks out for most of it, she already knows most of these peoples' standpoints, anyway. The Ambassador and his wife want Michael to return to Vulcan. Pollard and Culber think Burnham should stay right where she is: among friends and crew who support her. Cornwell believes a Starfleet mental health facility is the best choice.

“Because they did so well by my son,” Sarek dryly rebuts.

“An aberration of Control,” Conwell quickly returns. “That was a one-off and you know it. Starfleet caused this problem, and it's our responsibility to correct it.”

“Hi, two highly skilled physicians right here,” Pollard interjects, waving between herself and Culber.

“She needs to be brought under Section 31's purview,” Leland insists. “We have resources no other branch of Starfleet even has access to.”

Georgiou scoffs. “And when she discovers the truth of her parents' demise?” she throws out casually.

There's silence for a moment, then the statement is, by general consensus, ignored. 

That's when Georgiou knows, whatever is decided, Michael is going to lose. Why had she expected anything different? She really is becoming soft.

Only Pike, who has been suspiciously quiet, seems to notice or care when the Terran pushes away from the table and tosses up her hands. “You all are deficient,” she mutters.

Once out of the conference room, she touches her (still shiny black) badge. “Michael, get to my shuttle and leave immediately. This is your only chance for freedom. And daughter-who-is-not-my-daughter? Be at the coordinates we discussed, and when. Don't think I won't come looking for you if you fail to arrive. This universe has far fewer places to hide than mine.”

There's a pause before Burnham answers. “I never thought otherwise, Emperor.”

The Terran grins, because even now, her mind and life in tatters, Michael is still strong – strong enough to save herself.

But the humor quickly dies, replaced by practicality. “Georgiou to Tyler. Do you have eyes on Michael?”

“I'm in the mess, she's in quarters,” he answers promptly. “Why?”

“She's on her way to my shuttle. Get there now, or you may never see her again,” Georgiou warns. Over the channel, she hears the sound of something falling, and Tyler cursing in Klingon, before the link abruptly terminates.

He'll make it there in time. Whether Michael will allow him to accompany her is another matter.

/////

Tyler sprints into the shuttle bay just as Michael is loading the last crate of supplies.

“Seriously?” he challenges her, knowing she hadn't planned to say a damn word to him about leaving.

“This is my path, Ash, not yours,” she tells him flatly. “You're just getting your life back together. I can't let you throw it away over my problems.”

“Dammit, Michael – you're my life,” he disagrees sharply. “Both of us, or neither.”

She sets down her standard-issue carry case and a bag of whatever else she's carrying. “Do you remember – remember when I told you about reclaiming life? Ash, I have to start over. I won't survive anything else. And I _can_ start over – I've done it so many times before.” She offers him the slightest smile, faint but real. “After my parents' death, after I was rejected by the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, after the court marshal, after I came to _Discovery.”_ She pauses, then adds, “After you. One more time – I can do it one more time.”

Ash nods. “I know you can. But this time, I'll be with you. We've tried the separate lives thing, Michael – it made us both miserable, you know it did. So this time? You're stuck with me.”

“That's all very sweet, but no one's going anywhere.”

The pair turn to find Nhan, of all people, aiming a phaser at them. “Captain Pike thought you might try something like this. I know it feels like a betrayal, but if I let you go, then you'll be hunted by – well, every one. If Starfleet catches you, they'll have your ass again for AWOL. You, too, Tyler. And what if it's the Vulcans who get to you first? Burnham, don't look at me like that. I feel bad enough as it is, doing this.”

Tyler starts to reach for the phaser at his thigh.

“Oh, don't even,” Nhan warns. “I'll stun you so fast your head will spin.” She points at the extra bag at Burnham's side. “Slide that over here.”

Burnham slowly bends to slide the bag across the deck to her.

Without her weapon wavering, Nhan half-kneels to open the bag. “All of these are illegal, as I'm sure you know. I guess Lorca let you play with his toys.” Her gaze turns speculative. “Or maybe you were one of his toys.”

Burnham blinks slowly. “The later is probably closer to the truth.” She doesn't see how Tyler flinches at the admission.

Nhan slowly straightens. “I owe you, Michael, and I know that. But my duty is still to Starfleet, and I can't let you leave.”

Suddenly Tilly appears behind Nhan, cuffs the Security officer across the back of the head with a PADD. “Well, I can,” the redhead says regretfully, “and so can lots of others.”

“Tilly,” Michael says sharply.

The Ensign goes to her friend quickly. “Go, you have to go now. Seru will drop shields long enough for you to get out of the bay, then Stamets is going to jump the ship. Reno promises there's going to be a significant Engineering problem. Owo and Detmer will make sure the sensors can't pick up your warp trail. Rhys will give the Vulcans just enough info to send them in the wrong direction; Bryce guarantees there'll be a communications failure that it'll take hours to fix. And Culber will say you're such an emotional mess, it's too hard to guess where you're going.”

“Jump the ship?” Tyler echoes. “How many people are in on this plan?”

“Oh, you don't even want to know,” Tilly assures him. Impulsively she hugs Michael, then quickly backs away. “You're our family, Michael. Go get well, then come back to us. There's no one on _Discovery_ that doesn't owe you for something, no one. Helping break the Klingon cloak, bargaining for us with Lorca, helping heal the Mycelial Network – just being you. You've never given up on us, like you wouldn't give up on Ariam. So go do what you gotta do to get well – but Michael, come back to your family.” Tilly is crying now, so much that it's hard to make out when she's saying. “Hurry. Seru's waiting for my signal.”

Michael looks so torn. “If I can come back to you, I will,” she tells her roommate-champion-friend.

“Michael, it's now or never,” Tyler urges. “Tilly – thank you. Tell the others thanks, too. We're beyond grateful.”

Tilly dares to rush forward and briefly hug him. “You better come back, too, Ash. Both of you,” she warns, half laughing through her tears.

Tyler nods shortly. “If we can, we will. _When_ we can, we will,” he corrects.

Tilly watches them pick up Lorca's bag of illegal weapons, then enter the shuttle. The engines power up. The Ensign touches her badge. “Seru, they're set to go.”

But it isn't Seru who responds: it's Spock.”Acknowledged. Dropping shields now.”

Tears are still sliding down Tilly's face as she watches the shuttle shoot out of the bay, spool up its warp engine, then dart into the stars. Funny, she feels the way she had when they released the Tardigrade.

Again she touches her badge. “Ready, Stamets. They're free.”

“I've got you, Tilly,” Stamets answers, his voice oddly gentle.

/////

 _Discovery_ jumps.

/////

I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier  
I know that the clubs are weapons of war  
I know that diamonds mean money for this art  
But that's not the shape  
The shape of my heart  
~Sting “The Shape of My Heart” (all lyrics)

[end]


End file.
